


If he had a Heaven of his own

by Zucarbaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18, Angst, M/M, but kinda hopeful?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28039419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zucarbaby/pseuds/Zucarbaby
Summary: The last minutes before sinking into the Empty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	If he had a Heaven of his own

Words are surprisingly easy to find. In fact, it's so easy that Castiel could talk for hours, days, decades — about why Dean Winchester is worthy of love. But there is no need for that, just as there is no need for reasons. Castiel had given up counting them long ago — it didn't make sense. Love brought with it thousands of questions, and he looked for answers everywhere — on Earth, in Hell, in Heaven and in Purgatory. Over these questions he sat with his winged back bent, frowning, fists clenched — for years. But the truth was: he didn't really need to know why he loved the one he loved or why he loved at all. He just did.

Dean Winchester, a hero, a savior. Demon Dean. Dean, of whom only fragments remain. Dean with hate in his eyes, anger in the curve of his lips. Dean, always choosing Sam. Dean opening his arms for a hug. And Dean walking away. Dean who gave up, Dean who lost. Dean with the blood of an innocent on his hands. Dean — still just a child. Dean with no faith in angels. Dean with such hatred for them. Dean, ready to die, willing to die. Dean with a beer bottle in his hand, laughing. Dean, Dean, Dean. Whatever he is — angelic love stubbornly swirls at his feet. Castiel can't and won't resist it. This is the very thing worth living for, worth dying for. And now, for the first time, he can finally do it openly.

And a multi-ton weight is lifted from his shoulders. Although he knows that once it's all over, some of this weight, indestructible and eternal, will remain on Dean's shoulders. But what really matters is that these shoulders will keep shaking with laughter, relaxing in Sam's arms, straightening out in the face of danger. Dean can handle the rest, he's strong like no other.

So the fear goes away. There is peace and, of course, there is pain, it's new and unfamiliar, it's right, necessary, cleansing. Pain that has a purpose, that has a price.   
Although Dean's life is priceless.   
Castiel takes a breath and lets the forbidden words loose.

The truth that will kill him.

"I love you"

The truth that will save _his_ life.

And everything makes sense. Everything finally makes sense.   
Sometimes he thought with shame, that maybe it was a burden, a flaw, a beautiful mistake of the universe. His reward for all attempts, his punishment for all failures.   
Because serving Winchester was his destiny.   
Becoming part of his family was an unforeseen gift.   
But _wanting him_ — how could it be part of the story?

Castiel doesn't look away. And through the tears blurring his vision, through the time slipping from his hands, through the inevitably approaching death, he sees — this is not just part of the story, this is the whole point of it.

He had been ashamed for so long, afraid for so long, so long, so unbearably long. From the very moment when he first realized, once again putting his hand on Dean's shoulder, that he didn't want to remove it from there at all. And until the very embrace in Purgatory, their last embrace, bittersweet, in which, in addition to the pure and spiritual, there was a conscious and human _desire_ to simply _be closer_. But it should never have been shameful, now Castiel sees it. If it saves Dean Winchester's life, if it saves the world, it's good, it's all good. 

The willingness to fall from Heaven to earth, the willingness to fall on his knees in front of him and reach for his belt. The desire to take away his pain, pull it out — biting and prickly, with his own hands. And with the same hands, touch his hair, touch his neck in the place where the collar of his shirt begins to hide it. The thirst to be useful to him and the thirst to be needed by him. Thoughts of his safety, his well-being and thoughts of his smile, his freckles, the roughness of his voice. A desperate yearning for free will and a mindless want to belong to him. The memory of the mark left on his shoulder and the dreams of the marks that Dean could have left on him if Castiel had been human, if Dean had wanted to. The happiness of being close and the misery of not being able to be closer.

And now, finally, his _true happiness_ \- to love him not in the shadows of hidden thoughts, looking away, but with his head held high, openly, fearlessly. To love him.

The touch of The Empty is painless, almost affectionate, _tender_ , and Cas lets his last thought be that if he had a soul and had a true Heaven of his own, it would be Dean touching him the same way.


End file.
